In my Christmas letter to family and friends, this year, under the heading Titbits, I told this story:
"One summer morning, early, while Jenny and Mille were on their customary walk around the garden, a friend passing, stopped to talk. And while they were at it, Millie ran out to show two passing Alsatians who was boss. The bite that they took out of her cost £500 to fix. And the same dog would do the same tomorrow, except that she won't get the chance".
What I didn't tell the readers was, that the lady in question is Spanish. As a young girl in her teens, she came to England on a visit, fell in love with a tall dark and handsome man from Norfolk, and as they say, "the rest is history". And it wasn't idle chatter either. Unbeknown to us, Pilar was coming to the house with five slim volumes of poetry that she thought I might like. And if you are good at maths, and have a reasonable short-term memory, you will have calculated that that works out at £100 per "slim" volume.
One of these slim volumes, (I do want to emphasise the fact that they are slim), is "A Wreath of Christmas Poems", and at £100, it will lessen the pain if I share some of them with you. And if you enjoy them, I won't, after all, feel so bad.
I have lighted the candles, Mary . . ..
How swiftly breathes your little son
My wife has spread the table
With our best cloth. There are apples,
Bright as red clocks, upon the mantel.
The snow is a weary face at the window.
how sweetly does He sleep
"Into this bitter world, O Terrible Huntsman!"
I say, and she takes my hand----- "Hush,
You will wake Him."
The taste of tears is on her mouth
When I kiss her. I take an apple
And hold it tightly in my fist;
The cold, swollen face of war leans in the window.
They are blowing out the candles, Mary...
The world is a thing gone mad tonight.
O hold Him tenderly, dear Mother,
For he is a kingdom in the hearts of men.
Kenneth Patchen (1911-1972)
_____
The Gift
As the wise men of old brought gits
guided by a star
to the humble birthplace
Of the god of love,
the devils
as an old print shows
retreated in confusion.
What could a baby know
of gold ornaments
of frankincense and myrrh,
of priestly robes
and devout genuflections?
But the imagination
knows all stories
before they are told
and knows the truth of this one
past all defection
The rich gifts
so unsuitable for a child
though devoutly proffered,
stood for all that love can bring.
The men were old
how could they know
of a mother's needs
or a child's
appetite?
But as they kneeled
the child was fed
they saw it
and
gave praise!
A miracle
had taken place,
hard gold to love,
a mother's milk!
before
their wondering eyes.
The ass brayed
the cattle lowed.
it was their nature.
All men by their nature give praise.
It is all
they can do.
The very devils
by their flight give praise.
What is death,
beside this?
Nothing. The wise men
came with gifts
and bowed down
to worship
this perfection.
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)
_____
A Christmas Carol
Before the pailing of the stars,
Before the winter morn,
Before the earliest cock-crow
Jesus Christ was born:
Born in a stable,
Cradled in a manger,
In the world his hands had made
Born a stranger.
Priest and King lay fast asleep
In Jerusalem,
Young and old lay fast asleep
in crowded Bethlehem:
Saint and angel, ox and ass,
Kept a watch together,
Before the Christmas daybreak
In the winter weather.
Jesus on his mother's breast
In the stable cold,
Spotless lamb of God was He,
Shepherd of the fold:
Let us kneel with Mary maid,
With Joseph bent and hoary,
With saint and angel, ox and ass,
To hail the King of Glory
Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
_____
A Hymn On The Nativity Of My Saviour
I sing the birth was born tonight,
The author both of life and light;
The angels so did sound it.
And like the ravished shepherds said,
Who saw the light and were afraid,
Yet searched, and true they found it.
The Son of God, the eternal king,
Thus did us all salvation bring,
And freed the soul from danger:
He whom the whole world could not take,
The Word, with heaven and earth did make,
Was now laid in a manger.
The Father's wisdom willed it so,
The Son's obedience knew no No,
Both wills were in one stature;
And as that wisdom had decreed,
The Word was now made flesh indeed,
And took on him our nature.
What comfort by Him do we win,
Who made himself the price of sin,
To make us heirs of glory!
To see this babe all innocence,
A martyr born in our defence--
Can you forget the story?
Ben Jonson (1573-1637)
_____
A Song of the Virgin Mother
As ye go through these palm-trees
O holy angels;
Sith sleepeth my child here [Sith = Since]
Still ye the branches.
O Bethlehem palm-trees
That move to the anger
Of winds in their fury,
Tempestuous voices,
Make ye no clamour,
Run ye less swiftly,
Sith sleepeth the child here
Stay ye the branches.
He the divine child
Is here a-wearied
Of weeping the earth-pain,
Here for his rest would he
Cease from his mourning.
Only a little while,
Sith sleepeth this child here
Stay ye the branches.
Gold be the fierce winds,
Treacherous round him.
Ye see that I have not
Wherewith to guard him,
O angels, divine ones
That pass us a-flying.
Sith sleepeth my child here
Stay ye the branches.
Lope De Vega (1562-35)
Translated from the Spanish by Ezra Pound
_____
© Cormac McCloskey
Taken from: A Wreath of Christmas Poems
Publisher: A New Directions Publishing Corporation 1972
Edited by Albert M. Hayes and James Laughlin
Note: This blog, "Christmas: The Price of Friendship", was first published on Windows Live Messenger, by me, on 22nd December 2007
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